


Heart wrapped in blankets (laying low)

by queenofanavia



Category: Social Network (2010) RPF
Genre: Depression, Highschool AU, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of homophobia, Past Character Death, Self loathe, TSN Big Bang, Teen Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofanavia/pseuds/queenofanavia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m telling you, Jesse, he’s been staring at you for the past half an hour” Joe murmurs as he turns to nudge Jesse’s side.</p><p>Jesse sighs and tries to gather up his patience.</p><p>“Who has?” he asks even if he knows it’s pointless. From the exasperated look Joe throws him, he knows too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart wrapped in blankets (laying low)

“I’m telling you, Jesse, he’s been staring at you for the past half an hour” Joe murmurs as he turns to nudge Jesse’s side.

Jesse sighs and tries to gather up his patience.

 

“Who has?” he asks even if he knows it’s pointless to ask. From the exasperated look Joe throws him, he knows too. 

 

“Andrew Garfield, Jesse, Andrew freaking Garfield!” he announces, noticeably louder than acceptable, earning him glares from other students. . 

 

“Alright, Joe, keep your voice down. We’re in a library. And don’t be ridiculous, he’s been doing no such thing.” he says, resolutely not glancing up from his History textbook “Now, shush, we should be revising for this test” 

 

He thinks the despairing glance Joe gives him is completely unnecessary and totally undeserved. 

 

\--- 

 

The thing is that Jesse knows exactly why what Joe has been saying for the past few weeks is preposterous. Andrew Garfield can’t, in any form or capacity, be watching or even acknowledging Jesse’s existence. Jesse is the kind of boy you don’t even notice, even when he is in half your classes. He never gets picked to play in any team. Jesse is, to put it mildly, invisible. 

 

For the past four years, the only people he’s had any sort of contact with at school have been Joe Mazzello, who is probably his best friend, and Emma Stone, a kid in the year below whom Jesse helps with History and Latin. Joe became his friend after seeing him crying in the bathroom, on the first day of school. That day, Jesse received the first taste of what would become the norm for the next few years and Joe, equally invisible despite his clown-of-the-class persona, had come in and patted his back, wincing in sympathy. Jesse had locked eyes with him and known the kid would stick around.

Emma had come more as a surprise. Jesse had signed up for the tutoring as a way of earning some extra credit, and maybe a little desperate to meet someone who’d like him even if they were younger, despite the fact that he’d already resigned himself to spending his high school years scared and alone. The kid who turned up the next Tuesday was foul-mouthed, cranky-eyed and in dire need of some help with all the humanities-related subjects, not just History. Emma and he had progressed from the Civil War to the declinations and from there to a budding friendship that Jesse now valued but thought would be short-lived. 

 

Jesse knew he was nothing to write home about. So, what Joe kept saying, you know, it was stupid. It didn’t stand to reason. It was preposterous.  _Preposterous_ , Jesse doodled in his notebook, the creamy white pages mocking him.  _Stupid_  in a curl of black ink. It would be soon in the back of his mind, forgotten, just like Joe’s betrayed stares in the library, and his whispers of “tell Mr Day about Steele, Jesse” in English period, never to the brought up again. 

 

 

\--- 

 

Jesse and Andrew Garfield don’t share any classes. It is partly because they don’t take the same subjects and partly because Andrew Garfield is, in fact, a year older than Jesse and in his last year of high school. There’s absolutely no reason for Jesse to know that Andrew Garfield’s least favourite subject is Literature (which Jesse loves), that he likes Doctor Who, hangs around at Justin Timberlake’s place every Friday afternoon and that his dream is to star in an Arthur Miller production. And he doesn’t. Know those things, that is. He just… He just happened to learn them. In a non-weird, completely normal sort of way. He eavesdropped. Accidentally. 

 

\---

 

One of the things that Jesse overheard (accidentally, of course, remember the accidental part) is that Andrew Garfield doesn’t like the library. Apparently, he thinks it’s too quiet and he needs sounds to study better. Not that Jesse paid attention or anything. 

 

But Jesse has been seeing a lot of him there lately.  _A lot_. He’s claimed a table at the back, around the History and Literature section, to the left of Jesse’s own. He usually has all his books sprawled there, open but ignored in favour of writing on some script for his Drama club production (not that Jesse knows, okay, he just happens to see the title one day. Again, accidentally) or doodling away in a leather Moleskine (which, okay, hipster, but Jesse figures someone like Andrew Garfield can get away with it). 

 

\--- 

 

When he was seven and cried every day before going to school, Jesse’s mom told him that one day, the bad people in the world would use his tears against him and that they were too precious for them to see. That he should keep them guarded, to keep them shielded and only show them to those who cared. She said she would always care and would always treasure his tears like they should be treasured. 

 

Jesse loves his mom, but hasn’t quite forgiven her for loving him so much. 

 

\---

 

“Joe tells me Andrew Garfield is sort of stalking you” Emma says one day, between the history of the Peloponesian wars and the Accusative. 

 

Jesse sighs and closes the Latin book, resigned to an early end. 

 

“Joe imagines a lot of things” 

 

Emma stares at him disbelievingly. 

 

“So Garfield isn’t hanging out in the library only when you’re there?” She tsks. 

 

“No, he’s not. He’s just a regular student who uses the school facilities to further improve his knowledge. Just like  _we_  should be doing” and he points to the both of them, and to the closed books. Emma laughs it off, continuing to stare him  down with a knowing gaze.

 

“But you want him to be there for you. Don’t you?” she smirks. 

 

Jesse flushes a bit and tries to pry the Latin book from her fingers, but she won’t let it go.

 

“No, of course, no, I don’t. Would you give me that? We need to finish this, you have an exam coming up!” 

 

Emma pouts.

 

“You’re no fun at all!”

 

 

\--- 

 

Jesse closes his eyes and lets the sun wash over him. He’s holding his gym bag, dirty and full of leaves, after having searched for it amidst the school playground. Now, he’s finally dressed and he should be heading home, but doesn’t want to leave this spot just yet. He enjoys the sun and the silence. 

 

He’s past the crying stage (he knows it yields no result, so why bother) and he’s past the telling (no better results there). Now he just clutches his bag and tries to steel himself for the walk home. He hopes he doesn’t meet anyone. 

 

\---

 

Home is where the heart is, they say. Jesse doesn’t have a home.

\---

 

The next time he sees Andrew Garfield, it’s outside the lab. Jesse’s just finished up cleaning the tables after  _accidentally_  knocking over a phial from today’s experiment. He sees the older boy sitting outside the lab room, again with one of his scripts, but this time with a highlighter in hand. Jesse frowns and walks by trying to be as inconspicuous as he can and wonders what Andrew Garfield would be doing here of all places. 

 

As he hurries off, he thinks only of his probably ruined t-shirt and the next Philosophy exam. 

 

 

\--- 

 

The next day started awfully. His mom overslept and managed to blame her lateness on him, even though they didn’t need to wake up at the same time. After that wonderful kick off, he’d arrived too early at school (something that happened more usually than not) and had bumped Lucas, who was not been happy about having been dropped off too early, too. (Jesse is way past wondering why it’s his fault)

 

Jesse is seventeen and he knows for certain that life, like this, is not worth living. He knows that maybe, one day, it will get better, but that the odds are not in his favour. A child of a broken home, socially awkward and with a love for history doesn’t go far. Add a bit of bullying (which is just child’s play, he tells himself) and a crush (just an inclination of the heart, nothing, it’s harmless) for one of the most popular boys in the school and you have a completely forgettable individual. 

 

He writes down ‘forgettable’ as his word of the day and stashes his notebook in his locker. He notices a leaf poking out, underneath the black notebook. Frowning, he takes it and turns it around in his hand. Oddly enough, picking up leaves is kind of a habit of his (it’s beautiful to see the changes in the seasons that way) but he doesn’t remember taking this one. It’s crumpled, slightly broken and completely flat, as if it has been stashed inside a notebook or book. He never keeps his leaves inside his locker, doesn’t want any stray insect to get into his books. He wonders if this is somebody’s idea a joke and looks around, but no one is paying him any attention. He stares at it again, as if it could yield any answers. Finally, he shrugs and carefully places it between the first pages of his notebook. 

 

And then promptly forgets all about it. 

 

\--- 

 

He starts seeing Andrew everywhere. He even feels like he’s gained the right to call him Andrew merely by virtue of overexposure to his gangly limbs. He’s allowing himself that. Everywhere. He’s… everywhere. It is not helping his (small. tiny. innocuous. practically nonexistent) crush at all. 

 

One afternoon, he goes to the library and sees Andrew… sitting on his table. Jesse’s table. He considers changing tables but sees that all the other ones are filled (he thinks it’s normal, since exam week is coming up) and weights how much he needs to get things done before going home. After a moment of hesitation, he sits on his usual spot in the corner and tries to occupy as little space as is humanly possible. He prays Andrew won’t tell him to fuck off somewhere else. He focuses completely on his Chemistry assignment and tries to drown everyone else (people, it’s a library, not the place to gossip) including and specially Andrew. 

 

After a while, he chances a look at the other boy, who has seemingly not reacted at all to his being there (Jesse assigns one point to himself for that. Jesse: 1. Life: 1567) and finds him staring at him with his head cocked to the side and an amused smile on his face. 

 

“Hi” Andrew says, smiling a bit more. Jesse bites his lip before returning the greeting. He manages to not look around him before doing so and is prepared to go about his business as if nothing had happened (when in fact he’d had his first contact with Andrew Garfield, ever.) when Andrew speaks up (whispers) again. 

 

“What are you working on there? You looked awfully focused” his tone is light and carefree. Jesse swallows. 

 

“Uhm, I’m doing, I’m working on Chemistry.” he mutters and Andrew’s eye twinkle. Jesse is instantly suspicious. He wonders when he’ll see Lucas and his croons appear “I don’t really like it” he looks down, and to the side and up again and is confronted with Andrew’s manic grin. 

 

“I could help you with that? I mean, if you want.” And Jesse thinks he may die. Here, now. He opens his mouth to answer and closes it. Thinks, ‘to hell with this’ and that if they’re gonna make fun of him anyway for other reasons, he’d rather have this tiny moment.

 

“That is… That would be very, uhm, nice of you? But you don’t need to, you sure have, you know, better things to do, and, I will, I will manage.” Andrew smiles even more and gestures at his book.

 

“This? It’s for French. I’d rather help you!” and in no time he’s sitting next to Jesse, in Jesse’s  _personal space_ , and is leaning to better see the book. The one in front of Jesse. In Jesse’s  _personal space_. Andrew leans into that space.  _His personal one_. Jesse is overwhelmed. 

 

He registers that Andrew smells good. And that he’s talking. 

 

“… So you’re doing fluids right now, that’s pretty easy if you get the hang of it quickly” and Andrew takes the pencil out of Jesse’s hand,  _touching him_ , and proceeds to explain. 

 

Jesse tries to focus on what Andrew’s saying and realises that he is not as stupid as he had thought. (so, not a complete hipster). 

 

Ten minutes later, Andrew finishes what Jesse thinks is the best Chemistry lesson he’s received in his life and smiles at him again, something he’s been doing for the whole time. 

 

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself. I’m Andrew Garfield” he says smiling again, holding out his hand. Jesse gives him his clammy one.

 

“I, I know.” Andrew smiles and Jesse blushes. “I’m Jesse. Jesse Eisenberg. I’m in the year below yours” he says flushing more. Andrew winks at him

 

“I know”

 

\--- 

 

After that, it becomes a thing. Andrew sits at his table even when the others are empty and smiles at him from time to time. And he actually starts to bring some school-related work, which is mostly maths and chemistry, not that Jesse is keeping tabs on it. 

 

They never talk. 

 

\---

 

Andrew starts to smile at him whenever they meet in the corridors and Jesse always smiles back. From that, it escalates into awkward waves that leave Andrew’s friends snickering and Joe squeaking like a teenage girl. 

 

But they never talk. 

 

\--- 

 

One day, Jesse finds another thing in his locker. It’s a scrap of paper, with a single stroke of black pen. It’s broad and it looks like it could have fallen from one of his notebooks, except he never tears the paper and he never picks things like this up. He thinks he might have just swept it inside his bag while picking up his things today after English (Lucas was lurking and he wanted to be out of there asap) and doesn’t give it much more thought. 

 

But he keeps it inside his moleskine, just in case. 

 

\--- 

 

As he unpacks his lunch and waits for Joe to join him, Jesse wonders what would have happened had they stayed in New York. He was happy there, he can remember, with the sort of certainty memories give you. 

 

He remembers school nights spent in Milo’s house, nights when his mom had to leave for work, when both of them would build forts and wait for Milo’s mom to bring them hot chocolate. And he remembers when Justin Bartha was the new kid with Superman t-shirts, how slowly he became the third part of their trio. He wasn’t happy all the time, he still has fresh in his mind his father sickness and death and how it brought him and his mom apart, instead of together. He remembers his grandparents looking at him with sad smiles and giving him candy. 

 

His childhood back in NY was a happy one, overall. He misses being happy, he guesses, but doesn’t know exactly if he should ever be. Maybe that’s what growing up is all about. Learning to be unhappy. 

 

He’s snapped right out of his thoughts by Joe, who plops down on his chair with a sour expression. 

 

“Salad, Jesse” he says. Jesse waits for him to elaborate, but Joe doesn’t seem to be about to. 

 

“Salad…?”

 

“Salad! My mother, she is horrible, she’s making me eat salad now. And vegetables. Because I eat far too much greasy food. Can you believe it?” Joe complains grandiosely. 

 

Jesse looks down at his Pasta and veggies dish and suppresses a smile. 

 

“I feel your pain, Joe. She’s being a heartless autocrat. Time for a revolution, it will be the uprising of the hamburgers” he deadpans and watches Joe give him the stink eye. 

 

“Shut up, you don’t love me at all.” and Jesse shrugs, but doesn’t deny it being true. Joe squeals and pinches him. “How’s it going with your not-so-secret stalker, Jesseee?” he mellows sweetly, dragging the e out like the idiot he is. Jesse cradles his injured arm and glares at him with the heat of an offended kitten. 

 

“Keep your delusions to yourself, Joe.” 

 

“One day, my Jesse-pooh, we’ll look back at this and you will bow to my superior understanding of the human psyche. I’m telling you.” Jesse rolls his eyes and focuses on his food, which can hold a much more intelligent argument than his current conversational partner. 

 

 

\---

 

Jesse remembers one of the first times he went to the doctor with his mom, before the depression had been diagnosed. He remembers sitting in the ugly plastic chairs and staring out the window, with tears in his eyes and a growing frustration inside of him. He remembers how his mom would resolutely avoid his eyes and face the other way, sitting with her palms flat on each of her sides, on the chair. He remembers taking one of hers into his small ones, and her absolute lack of reaction. He remembers how just one twitch would make his heart jump and wait anxiously for her fingers to be laced with his, to be let in, to be accepted as the support he so desperately wanted to become. He remembers the disappointment when the twitch was nothing more, when she would still look away and shy away from his touch, when she was just beside him but so, so far away. 

 

\--- 

 

And he feels like he’s falling and falling and falling and failing. He can’t breathe, he can’t move and he can’t feel. And he’s so glad for the numbness he almost wants to die from relief. People who say that it’s better to have loved and lost than not have not felt the pain of the loss. It’s the most excruciating thing, to feel alive, and he doesn’t want to feel it anymore. 

 

\--- 

 

Mostly he feels alone. He feels lonely and detached and on a cloud where no one can touch him. It all feels unreal. He clutches the tiny post it with the little heart, the one that was between his Chemistry notebook and his Maths textbook, and hopes it’s not a joke, but even then, it doesn’t feel real. Nothing feels real. 

 

He goes on autopilot. He wakes up, has breakfast, kisses his mother good-bye (checks she’s had her meds. Checks the gas, the light, the bills. Checks the pills again) and goes to school, where he lets Lucas do whatever he likes with him and then goes to class. Class stretches endlessly until lunch, when Joe’ll talk about himself or something stupid for half an hour and Jesse will pretend to listen while spacing out and then class again. And, after, after all that, the only moment in which he feels a little bit free. Then there comes the library and a bit of space and happiness albeit tiny and crushed and the hope, the daring, small, tiny hope that Andrew will smile at him and maybe, maybe talk to him (hello.hi). After that, the autopilot reins again and he goes back home, where he makes supper (light.easy.cheap) for him and his mom. (checks the gas. the pills. the light. the bills. the pills) and goes to his room. To read. To space out again and write about his day. (word of the day: spectrum) of light. of feeling. of nothing. A bit about Andrew, a bit about himself, a lot about nothing. And sleep. Blissful, perfect, fake, pill-induced sleep that will in reality be fitful and full of nightmares. But sleep nonetheless. 

 

 

\--- 

 

Jesse’s always thought of life as a Bernouilli experiment, either success or failure, yes or no, one or the other. It’s easier to see things this way (his mom needs him. he doesn’t get to hate her. his job is to take care of her. he doesn’t need friends) 

 

It’s too easy to drown himself in the endless pit of pain and sorrow his mom has become and, sometimes, he has. He misses being a child. No, wait, no, he doesn’t. At least now he can leave. Yes, well, he misses it. Then, then he didn’t  _want_ to leave. 

 

  

\--- 

 

It all sort of imploded one day, when Jesse was nine. His father had already been sick for two years and his mom had probably been unwell for most of her life. Jesse remembers afternoons in the park with the sun on his cheeks and his parents smiling at him, but those memories are ragged and torn on the edges, so much that he may even have created them. He remembers his words of the day being sunny, milky and strawberry. 

 

He used to need to believe in a better time, in a better… place in his mind. He doesn’t need them now, not anymore. When he was nine, his mom was first treated for depression. It hadn’t been that bad, then, or maybe he just doesn’t remember. He remembers a lot of kissing his dad and going to the school to play with Milo, only to come home to sweat-soaked sheets and a crying mom. 

 

\--- 

 

 

It’s Monday. Emma and Jesse do not have a lesson today, but Emma insists on seeing him in the library and having him help her out. 

 

“This project, Eisenberg. It’s going to kill me. So, help me out. Now.” she bosses him around while walking towards Jesse’s table. 

 

“It’s not that bad, Em, I’m sure you’re doing fine.” he mutters distractedly, wondering whether he’ll see Andrew there today. The other boy does not disappoint, as they find him perched on his chair and reading from a Physics book, with a notebook close by. 

 

He smiles softly when he sees Jesse but his eyes shift when they land on Emma. She is staring at him attentively and clutching her books in front of her chest. Maybe she has a crush on him too? (no. not too. Jesse does not have a crush on him. never. him? no.) Sometimes Jesse forgets that Emma is younger. 

 

Jesse and Emma settle in to start working. Emma has to analyze a stack of source materials for her History class and she is as lost as Jesse is with any kind of formulae. While Emma sorts through her work, Jesse darts a look at the other end of the table. Andrew is staring at him, idly chewing on a pen. Jesse smiles skittishly and is glad to see a satisfied look on the other boy’s face. (not about you, boy. nothing is about you anymore)

 

“What are working on today?” Andrew says, marking it the first time they exchange more than a greeting in weeks. Jesse looks at Emma, who is patiently looking at him. (again with the strange expression. maybe she’s just tired)

 

“Well, you see, Emma here is, well, she has a History project and, I, uh, I’m…” he makes a weird gesture with his hands and is certain that he looks like an idiot. Andrew has his head cocked and half a (fond?) smile on his lips. 

 

Emma raises her eyebrow and delves in to save him, bless her soul. 

 

“Jesse here helps me out with History every Tuesday and now I’m mooching off him to do this awful project” she says with a strangely clipped tone. Jesse looks back from her to Andrew and back again and wonders if there’s something there he doesn’t know. Andrew loses the frown he was sporting since Emma began to talk and focuses right back on Jesse. 

 

“That’s awfully nice of you, Jesse” smiles Andrew and Jesse can’t help but flush a little bit. “Maybe you could help me out sometime with History, too. I can’t seem to learn anything, much as I try” he laughs a bit, though his eyes never leave Jesse’s. 

 

He flushes a bit more and grabs the book, outlining the letters on the cover with his sweaty hands “I’d, that’d be, I’d be very glad to, you know, be of some use, to… uh, to you, but you are a year ahead of me, and, huh, that is, it may be a bit difficult, but if I can help with, anything, or you know, something, just tell me” he rambles and chastises himself mentally afterwards. Emma is looking at him again, seemingly tired of glaring at Andrew, this time with an amused smile. She pats his hand, outstretched on the table. Jesse flashes a smile at her and wonders when he became a complete sham at human interaction. 

 

Andrew clears his throat and continues to be focused solely on Jesse (what? he’s not imagining it. it’s there. he is doing that. Jesse’s sure, he could swear it. maybe he’s just imagining it. yes, that must be it. maybe Andrew is just ashamed or something and doesn’t want to look at Emma. oh, god. maybe Andrew likes,  _likes_ , Emma. oh, god, why.) “I’m sure you are much more adept at this thing than I am, years not making any difference” out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emma narrowing her eyes, but the only thing he can manage to do is blush a bit more. 

 

And that’s the end of it.

 

\---

 

Sometimes, Jesse cries himself to sleep and spends all night wondering about his life and decisions. He tries not to think about his mom, back when she wasn’t this… bad, and suppresses all memories of his father. He feels terrible about needing his mom, about subconsciously blaming her for what she’s become and reproaching her the failure she is at what her damn job should be (taking care of him) and after that cries some more until dawn comes and he is sure he won’t be able to wake up and go on anymore. 

 

But when the sun hits his face and he feels the dries paths of tears and snot, he feels ridiculous and ashamed and stupid. Then the mask slips back on and he gets up. 

 

\---  

 

He’s walking home the next time he sees Andrew. He’s sitting on the curb, texting or doing something with his phone and wearing those douchebag red pants of his  that he likes so much (not that Jesse notices his clothes or anything. they just happen to be very  _noticeable_ , you know? with them being red and everything. you can’t help but notice them and his ass in them and his legs in them… and, well,  _them_ ). But, well, Jesse sees him from down the road and considers diverting to the other side of the street, because he’s in no state to see anyone. He reconsiders, Andrew probably won’t even notice him passing by and wonders if it’s weird that he’s giving so much thought to passing by him on the street. 

 

So, Jesse tries to walk by as inconspicuously as humanly possible and is convinced that Andrew hasn’t even noticed his presence (because he’s a stealthy bastard, that he is) and is about to just pass by and go home and bury himself in his bed and forget what happened and just then is when Andrew raises his head and sees him walking towards him and smiles and waves and oh, god, Jesse is so fucked up. 

 

“Hey, Jesse!” and his eyes are fucking shining and he waves to Jesse to come over. Jesse tries to compose his face in a sort of smile (he fails, he’s sure) and slowly makes his way towards the older boy. 

 

He sits down besides Andrew on the sidewalk, a respectable distance away (Jesse’s secretly a Jane Austen character come to life, he’ll have you know)

 

“You walking home?” Andrew asks with that bright smile Jesse lusts over (doesn’t. that bright smile Jesse  _doesn’t_  lust over. get your facts straight). He nods and Andrew leans a bit towards him, still smiling. “Yeah, I figured, you always take this road.” And Jesse could die because  _Andrew Garfield knows which road home I take._ (word of the day: inconspicuous)“I was skating around here” and he points to the skateboard beside him, which Jesse had not noticed “and my friend Justin, Justin Timberlake, you know, from my year, called me with some ridiculous girl trouble I had to sit down to endure” and laughs a bit and Jesse does so, because it’s expected of him. 

 

“He’s, he’s dating Jessica Alba, isn’t he? The blonde one?” he tries to remember if that’s her name. Joe lusts over her, but he does so with most of the girls, so Jesse’s not sure. 

 

“Yeah, sort of. He’s still a bit hung up on his ex girlfriend, Britney. But, shh, you didn’t get that from me” he says looking around and whispering exaggeratedly. 

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect the secret with my life” Jesse deadpans and Andrew laughs. And they’re talking, actually  _talking_ , and Jesse is responding and making Andrew laugh. Oh, god. 

 

But then Andrew does a double-take on him and Jesse sees him notice his mud-stained clothes and the rag on his trousers and sees the question in his eyes and the realization dawning a second afterwards. He swallows and prepares an excuse in his head (it’s been a while since someone asked) and is incredibly grateful when Andrew smiles fondly at him and doesn’t ask (maybe the fond smile is just the only smile he has. yeah, that must be it. Jesse is not observing his smiles, but he has noticed they are numerous. yeah. maybe). Jesse shifts, because he’s not sure whether it’s sympathy or pity and he doesn’t like either. Andrew cocks his head at him and Jesse avoids his glance, suddenly wanting the earth to swallow him. 

 

Andrew stands up and Jesse is suddenly presented with a view of his crotch in very tight pants and now it’s him who does a double-take. He takes the hand that Andrew offers and stands up, wondering what just happened. 

 

“Come on, Eisenberg, I’ll walk you home. Wouldn’t want you to be attacked by a pack of wolves or something.” he says in a light tone and starts walking, with Jesse scrambling behind him. 

 

They walk in silence, Jesse trying to come up with something smart to say and Andrew apparently unbothered by the lack of conversation. He’s smiling (with a dimple, not that Jesse’s watching) and he seems okay with walking the extra miles to Jesse’s house. Which is at the end of the street. The one they’re walking. They will arrive in five minutes. Jesse’s not panicking, but he knows that if Andrew wants to come in it won’t be pretty. 

 

He pauses just in front of the lawn (he has to mow it, he notices) and Andrew pauses alongside him. He’s watching him with intent, as if keeping tabs on his reactions. Jesse bites his lips and wonders what’s he’s supposed to do. 

 

Andrew doesn’t let him decide. 

 

“So, this is it, huh?” he comments without looking at the house. Jesse is starting to feel unnerved under his stare. He nods.

 

“It’s not much, but, yeah, I live here” he says without looking at Andrew directly.  Andrew pats his shoulder awkwardly and Jesse is dying. dying. dying. 

 

“I don’t suppose you want to invite me in” Andrew says and Jesse feels like shit because he must think Jesse doesn’t like him and he does, so, so much. He starts to explain, but Andrew smiles and cuts him off before he has a chance to begin. 

 

“Don’t worry, I get it” Jesse wonders exactly what he’s ‘getting’. Andrew pats his arm again and adjusts his bag straps and Jesse wants nothing more than to be brave enough to say something. “I’ll see you around, then.” he says but he doesn’t leave, just stares at Jesse. When Jesse finally nods and his eyes do something wonky out of stress, Andrew nods, turns around and leaves. 

 

It feels like something important just happened there and he let it go. The moment is slipping between his fingers and he doesn’t even know what it is. 

 

Jesse feels like an idiot. 

 

 

\----

 

Jesse is completely, seriously, wholeheartedly contemplating moving to Siberia by next Tuesday. He’s, as of now, writing a list of all the places that’d be better than where he is right now - something he tries to avoid, because it only makes him feel worse, but can’t help but do - list that includes but is not reduced to a cave and Kepler 22B. 

 

He hears Joe’s full, throaty laugh from somewhere over there, where he is laughing and talking to Hamish, the kid he’s paired up with for Biology. Jesse feels a sudden bout of jealousy and hatred and wishes, with everything he’s got, that he could be the first thing for someone, just for a while. To know how it’d feel. He thinks that he was, at some point, for his parents, but that time is long forgotten.

 

He hasn’t seen Andrew since he walked him home. 

 

\--- 

 

 

Sometimes, Jesse has to drag himself out of bed and through the day with the absolute certainty that he won’t do anything of worth. He knows that his time would be better spent still under his blanket, hiding from the world. These days are grey, endless, neverneding stretches of minutes piling up one on top of the other without moving him further towards the end. These days, Jesse goes back to bed with the feeling that he’ll never be able to get up again. 

 

Sometimes, his days are a bit less grey. They are tedious, and long, and impossible, but they have tiny windows of sanity and light that he clutches to. These days, Jesse goes on autopilot, but manages to not feel so numb all of the time. A spark of feeling, a moment of pain, they’re the moments when he feels alive, not as if he was living someone else’s life and ruining it. These are the days when he sees Andrew on the hallway or Joe makes him laugh in the cafeteria. 

 

There are other days too. Days he doesn’t talk about, days that crush him more than any grey day ever could. These are the happy days, the days in which he wakes up and actually looks forward to getting out of bed. They sneak up on him and strike when he least expects it. At the beginning, he used to crave them, needing the momentary escape they provided. Now, he dreads waking up without the laden stone feeling in his gut. These are the days in which his mom bids him good morning. These are the days in which Joe and Emma sit with him at lunch and make him laugh. These are the days in which he gets straight As and congratulations from his teachers. These are the days in which Andrew talks to him in the library, looks at him and smiles. These are also the days when he cries himself to sleep and the nightmares come back because he doesn’t deserve to be happy and it’s never going to last, so he’d better not hope for it.

 

Sometimes, the day just ends.

 

\--- 

 

Jesse starts to have a part of his notebook dedicated entirely to the leaves and little things he finds in his locker. He’s got a California laurel taped to the first page, neatly labelled with date and name. Under that, a brief description of that day, nothing much, just a few thoughts. He feels like an addict, writing down medication times and how he feels when he’s taking them (he’s got one of those, too). He’s got a brownish Hackberry, that was falling apart so he covered it with film paper. There’s two Southern magnolias that are a bright emerald green color and were joined at the stem, and he’s too much of a romantic to separate them. There’s an eight-leaved Horse chestnut that takes up an entire page. 

 

And that’s just the leaves. 

 

There are two maps, too. Blank, political maps. One is from a region of the north of Italy, the Piemonte, that makes Jesse think of a teardrop and wish he could be there and enjoy the sun on his cheeks and forget about everything else. 

 

The other is of the Shetland Islands, which are scattered and tiny and fascinating and so small Jesse imagines them as snowflakes melting in his hands.

 

Jesse hasn’t filled them, instead has taped them to his notebook and carries them around. He sometimes caresses the little post-it, almost brown now. He stares at the scrap of paper with the black line and wonders if he’s imagining it all. He wonders when the taints will begin, but refuses to throw it away. While they don’t start coming, it’s a sliver of hope he can hold on to, something that sets his mind flying. He’s not so stupid as to refuse that. 

 

\--- 

 

Emma has exams, so he barely sees her that week. When they meet up for their lesson, she looks tired and stressed, and Jesse wonders for the millionth time if what he’s doing is more harm than good. 

 

“Don’t be stupid, Jesse. I’ve passed history thanks to you” she says when he mumbles that maybe they should stop the lessons. He blushes and waves her off, opening their books and a notebook. Emma stops his hands moving with one of hers and forces him to look at her. “Jesse, the other day, when we were here” she stops and he nods, looking between his hand clenched between hers and her olive eyes. “Andrew Garfield…. Is he trying to do something with you?” Jesse gapes at her in a very elegant manner. 

“Wha… No! He was just, being, you know, nice!” he says and he refuses to acknowledge the blush that rising to his cheeks. Emma stares at him and bites her lips. 

 

“But you like him, don’t you?” she says softly. Jesse blinks and starts to shake his head but then stops and thinks about sweet Emma who is smarter than what he gives her credit for. He nods slowly, without looking at her. “Oh, Jesse…. You do know that he’s been on and off with that Shannon girl, right?” 

 

No. Jesse did not know that. And he could have done without knowing it. 

 

\--- 

 

He knew Andrew was probably straight. He knew it was just a coincidence that he kept seeing him everywhere. Fool. Fool. Fool. Fool for believing otherwise. Fool for kidding himself into believing otherwise. Who would want anything with him? Certainly not Andrew. Andrew, of the beautiful, nice, slender,  _feminine_ , girlfriend. Andrew, who walked him home and smiled at him. Andrew, who would never see Jesse as more than what he was: a pathetic nerd with nothing to offer. 

 

So Jesse buries his moleskine under the papers on his desk and takes another one, blank. He wants to start over. 

\--- 

 

Jesse doesn’t show up in the library for the next two days, but then convinces himself that it was his table  _first_ , so if someone is going to move, it’s going to be Andrew. Garfield. Not Andrew. It’s going to be Garfield. 

 

So, he’s there, working, like the cool motherfucker he is. The library is practically empty and Jesse chides himself. Did he think Andrew would even notice? That he would keep coming here, what, waiting for him to show up? Stupid. He’s mentally reprimanding himself when, oh, wonder of wonders, the golden boy shows up. (Jesse’s not bitter. he’s just…. you wouldn’t understand. he just doesn’t understand why Andrew, no Garfield, didn’t mention his girlfriend. granted, they didn’t have many conversations, but it was  _relevant_ ). 

 

Andrew smiles at him as soon as he sees Jesse and Jesse has to restrain himself from growling. He manages a curt nod and focuses again on his work, which is, thank you very much,  _much more important than And-Garfield._

 

He doesn’t see the frown on Andrew’s face.  _Not that he cares_. 

 

Andrew sits down at his usual spot. “Hi, Jesse! I haven’t seen you for a couple of days…. What’s up?” and if Jesse had to put an adjective to him, it’d be nonchalant. (word of the day: delusion) 

 

“Nothing, not much. I’ve been, err, busy” Jesse says, trying to keep his tone neutral. Andrew cocks his head, as if trying to figure him out. 

 

“Well, I’m glad you’re here now. It’s been awfully lonely these days.” he smiles and Jesse wishes he was brave enough to smother him in his sleep. He settles for a glare. Andrew frowns, but seems to desist in his efforts to engage him in conversation. 

 

They work in silence for the next two hours. Jesse can feel Andrew looking at him from time to time but doesn’t acknowledge it. Why would he? 

 

When Andrew next speaks, Jesse is ready to shut him up with something cutting (and witty, because he’s a witty motherfucker) but what he says effectively shuts him up. 

“Uhm, Jesse, I was wondering, you see, there’s this…” he trails off and Jesse sees him shake his head and compose himself. (what?) “I was wondering if you’d like to do something with me this Friday. You know, movie, dinner, that sort of thing. With me. Friday. If you want” he’s blushing a bit and Jesse realizes that he’s nervous and, with that, the last of his resolve to ignore the fucking douchebag that Andrew is (because he’s one. remember Shannon) crumbles. 

 

“Uh… Yeah, of course, yes, yeah.” Jesse answers and flushes a bit himself and Andrew smiles at him with that shiny million bucks smile and Jesse is done. (‘hereby lies Jesse Eisenberg, who died because of Andrew Garfield’s smile’) 

 

“So… 6:30? I can pick you up at your place” says Andrew and when Jesse nods, his smile grows even more. (how is that even physically possible? damn him)

 

\---

 

Jesse wears his clothes like an armour. Normally, his choice is reduced to ill-fitting jeans and ratty t-shirts, so he’s at a loss when it comes to date attire. After twenty minutes of thinking and researching online whether he  _did_ need to dress up or not (according to Google, he did. according to Cosmopolitan, he should already be) he was desperate. 

 

That’s why he called Joe. 

 

A decision he is now regretting. Joe arrived fifteen minutes after six and is now squealing like a pig about to be slaughtered and hugging Jesse’s pillow. After five minutes of Joe fangirling over the fact that Jesse got himself a date (“A date! Jesse, a  _date_! I thought I’d never see the day! And with Andrew Garfield, Jesse!  _Andrew Garfield_!!”) despite Jesse’s insistence that it was no such thing. (just two guys hanging out together. it could  _not_ be anything more), he finally gets up and adopts a Tyra Banks pose (that Jesse does not know about. really) and opens the closet. 

 

“This is preposterous!” and “No, you’re not wearing  _that,_ are you insane?” and Jesse plops down on the bed and resigns himself to not making it. Joe keeps muttering and cursing his closet until he finally,  _finally_ , finds something to his taste. “Aha! This could work!” he throws a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt at Jesse’s face. Jesse wants to argue (the jeans are slightly skinny) but it’s already 6:23 and he’s not going to make it. Ever. 

 

So he dresses up and endures Joe’s coos stoically. 

 

\--- 

 

Joe even combs his hair. They’re not teenage girls having a sleepover and still Joe  _combs his hair_. 

 

\--- 

 

It’s 6:29 and Joe’s just left. Andrew hasn’t shown up yet and Jesse knows, knows with a certainty, that he won’t. He’s just another asshole that has tricked him into believing he is interested in him. In Jesse. Wow, how stupid he’s been. No one could be. How could they? (word of the day: charade).

 

It’s 6:29 on a Friday evening and Jesse’s dressed up, waiting in his living room for someone who won’t show up. He doesn’t think he could manage to be more pathetic, even if he tried.  He hugs a pillow to his chest and thinks that, voilà, he’s achieved it. 

 

It’s 6:32 and Andrew hasn’t shown up. He won’t. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He takes off his sneakers and curls up in the couch, figuring he’ll watch mindless tv until he feels numb all over. (they don’t have ice-cream. shame. there’s something in his eye, he should dust a bit. later) 

 

It’s 6:35 and the doorbell rings. Jesse lets it ring twice, because it’s not the first time someone got the address wrong. After the second ring, he uncurls his limbs and answers and  _Andrew_ is there. Jesse gapes and realises that Andrew is late. Just late. But he has shown up. (he’s only here to cancel, because he’s british and they’re polite like that. fuck him).

 

“Hi, Jesse!” the fucker says happily. “I’m very very sorry for running late but the shower wasn’t working properly and then I couldn’t figure out what to wear and…” he trails off when he sees Jesse’s confused expression. “I was a bit nervous” (why? why would he be?) he settles for, finally, a bit sheepishly. 

 

“It’s okay” Jesse says, automatically, with a croaky voice. He’s sort of paralyzed, holding the door, because Andrew looks… well, he looks good. (hot. like a marshmallow dipped in chocolate. like a cappuccino with cookies. Jesse’s so fucked. and also newly introduced to the true nature of skinny jeans, because damn, those are tight, where did he get them, oh my god, does he shop in the girls’ department?) He’s wearing black skinny (skinny. very. as in, really skinny. Jesse doesn’t think anyone has grasped the entirety of the meaning of that statement yet. let it be repeated: skinny) jeans and a leather jacket over a pinstriped white shirt. (maybe he has somewhere else to be. somewhere important? maybe he’s seeing Shannon after this. yeah, that’s probably right. so he’s here to cancel and Jesse will go back up and die of sexual frustration) 

 

“So… Are you ready to leave?” Andrew asks with a crooked smile. Jesse snaps out of his thoughts and clutches the door a bit more strongly, while looking down at his sock-clad feet. Andrew looks down too, his expression shifting. “You thought I wasn’t going to show up, didn’t you?” 

 

Jesse just shrugs and Andrew looks a bit ashamed of himself. 

 

\--- 

 

Andrew relays his plans for the evening later, when they’re heading for the theatre. They’re walking side by side and talking quietly, and it’s so date-like that Jesse cannot stop wondering what went wrong and when. (what. how. he  _definitely_ does not understand. he’d appreciate a little input here). He idly thinks what might happen if someone sees them. (will it hurt?). They make small talk and Jesse is so awkward he’s sure it will end up in disaster any time soon. He stumbles, both metaphorically and physically (well, that pavement, was  _not_  even, okay?) and Andrew catches him, like the gentleman he is (Shannon. let’s not forget her, Jesse.) 

 

It’s a quarter to seven when they arrive and Jesse suddenly realises that he has no idea what’s playing. Or what’s played. Or what he’s supposed to do. Does Andrew expect him to understand and partake in the choosing? He promptly freaks out. (but it’s normal, you see. it is. Andrew is such a hipster that he’ll want to watch some indie french film with subtitles about the deconstruction of the artist and Jesse will surely die).

 

And then they go in and Andrew suggests  _The Young Victoria._

 

“Alright, shut up, I miss my country, okay?” he mutters with a blush and his hand grazes Jesse’s and if he had any intention of saying anything it’s long gone now. He just smiles and shifts his weight from feet to feet, wondering if he should pay for the tickets. 

 

Before he can say anything, Andrew’s bought the tickets and paid for both of them. 

 

“Wait, let me give you…” Jesse says while he fumbles for his wallet. Andrew stops his hands (with his. with his own hands. you know, touching. his hands. they’re touching Jesse’s. what is breathing and how can he get the ability back. he remembers air being nice.) and shushes him. 

 

“No, no, I’m paying. I invited you” he mumbles softly while he taps Jesse’s nose with the tip of his finger and winks at him. (when did Andrew become his big brother? what? does he look that young? god, is this pity? don’t let it be pity) “I’m going to get some popcorn, do you want anything?” 

 

Jesse shakes his head, still speechless (he feels as if he’s said nothing during the whole…. thing. it’s  _not_ a date. it’s most definitely  _not a date. this is not a date._ don’t get your hopes up, stupid). Andrew cocks his head again (it’s that an habit of his, or what? Jesse hadn’t noticed before,  _not that he’s been watching him_ ) but turns around and goes. And Jesse is presented with a view of the most perfect ass in the tightest jeans he’s ever seen. Great. He hates being a teenager sometimes. 

 

A sudden peal of laughter startles him. There’s a group of people from Andrew’s year hanging around the back entrance, but Jesse doesn’t think they’re Andrew’s friends (not that he knows who are Andrew’s friends. they’re popular, okay? everyone knows them.) He doesn’t muse over it, mainly because Andrew’s back and steering him towards the room, fast, hands full of snacks and popcorn. 

 

\--- 

 

They end up in the last row (Jesse doesn’t really get why, there’s plenty of room in the middle), near one of the walls. The room is practically empty, with just a couple of elderly women in the front and a middle-aged man with his daughter. 

 

Andrew, to put it mildly, sprawls over one of the seats, and hands Jesse all his food just before taking off his jacket (remember the bit about Jesse forgetting to breathe? yeah? Jesse does too) and further experimenting with different leg positions until he finds one he’s comfortable with. He smiles dopily, winks at Jesse again (he’s flailing. in his head. because he still has  _some_ dignity. not much, mind you. just  _some_ ) and lets his head fall on Jesse’s shoulder. 

 

They share the snacks and the drinks, all the while trying not to comment on the film too loudly - the middle aged man has already shushed them once - and Jesse is trying to play it cool (because he’s a cool motherfucker, remember that one) and not give much importance to the fact that Andrew’s head is resting on his shoulder ( _his.shoulder.his.shoulder)_ and that he’s making him laugh (‘Well,  _you_  should know everything about Victoria’s shooting, it’s your history! That is simply not how it went!’ ‘That is preposterous, you twit, I know all about England’s glory days!’).

 

They’re sharing food together and they’re laughing and Jesse feels so alienated he can’t even begin to understand whether this is a dream or not. 

 

\--- 

 

Most of the evening passes in the same way. 

 

There are light brushes and tender looks and silent smiles. Jesse is pretty sure this is going well (“Did that satisfy your need of historically inaccurate movies or should we go see  _Gladiator_  now?”). They eat some burgers outside a dinner and Jesse assures Andrew that any time of the day is coffee time (“Yes, even 9:30 in a Friday night. It just  _is_. Would you rather I had some tea?” “Well… Yeah, actually”) and they watch the stars slowly blink awake, sitting side by side on the grass. 

 

Jesse notices, to his surprise, that he feels… at ease. It’s been a gradual thing, but Andrew’s smiles and his gentle touches have gotten him there. He sighs contentedly and points the constellations to the other boy, who laughs and says that he didn’t get those in England, while sneaking his hand slowly into Jesse’s own. (the one that’s not flailing about pointing at tiny points in the sky. that one. he’s not freaking out. his hand is most definitely  _not_ clammy. he’s chill, goddamit) 

 

When their legs start to cramp, Andrew jumps to his feet and announces that he’s walking Jesse home, without releasing his hand. Jesse stares at him and weighs the possibilities of them bumping into his mum (slight) against the warm heat of Andrew’s hand and body next to him. (well, if the boy insists, what can he do? he’s not jumping in joy. he will admit to nothing. his heart is not doing anything stupid, like stopping or beating faster or anything. he’s the master of chillness, samuel l jackson will be calling any day for tips and pointers).

 

The walk is not exactly short, but time flies by. They avoid subjects like school and friends and family (though that is mostly from Jesse’s part) and instead talk about books (Andrew gets strangely excited about Oscar Wilde, while Jesse is faithful to his Russian masters) and movies and tv shows and maybe they graze a bit their dreams and expectations. Jesse feels safe talking to an Andrew who is listening and whose thumb slowly draws circles on his palm, and he finds himself muttering very quietly deeply personal things, such as his wish that his mom would remember their life one day. 

 

Andrew responds to this with confessions of his own (half-muttered, half-finished) and Jesse fills in the blanks with images of a countryside and a little girl in pigtails that’s playing under bleak sunlight. 

 

Finally, they arrive at Jesse’s house. Jesse makes to release Andrew so he can take his keys out, but the other boy holds on tighter and leans into Jesse and before Jesse can freak out their lips are touching and Jesse doesn’t know what’s happening until he realises that it’s another person, another person’s  _lips_  that he’s feeling on his own and it’s not any random person, it’s Andrew, and everything flies through his head in the two seconds it takes him to open his mouth slightly and respond to the kiss and pray to every deity he can think of that he doesn’t screw this up because holy cow Andrew Garfield’s kissing him and he’s still shocked and why can’t he close his eyes and there his eyes are finally closed and oh, god, oh, god Andrew’s kissing him and Jesse is barely responding. 

 

The moment stretches endlessly and is over in the blink of an eye, at the same time. When Andrew steps away, with a slight smile, and taps his nose again before kissing his cheek and leaving, Jesse still hasn’t reacted. 

 

That night, in bed, he realises that  _Andrew Garfield kissed him._ It actually was a date. 

 

\--- 

 

Most people go through their lives feeling numb. It’s the only thing they know, this coating over life, this narcoleptic sheen that protects them from what they don’t even acknowledge. The demons, the pain, the suffering, the torture. Everything that they rationally know exists, but haven’t ever experienced. 

 

Their lives are empty, a never-ending void that they keep trying to fill with things and experiences and people with whom they can’t even make a connection. They’re aloof, disconnected from the real world, an underworld of red blotted splashes and acuteness of the senses, an underworld of overwhelming reality that they will never discover. Jesse is tired of living there, of missing the numbness and the tragically dull life. He wants to embrace this side of himself, but is too afraid to let go.

 

Jesse’s read somewhere that man, when he does not grieve, hardly exists. He’s oddly reassured to know that his existence is not in doubt.

 

\---

“Confess. Spill. Tell me. I need to know. What happened? Was it… you know? Why aren’t you talking? Talk, bitch, talk! Jesseeee, come on, I need to know! Why didn’t you call me? Did he like the outfit? Of course he did, I picked it! But tell me what happened!” 

 

Jesse truly, honest-to-heart, doesn’t understand why he and Joe are friends. Who shows up at their friend’s house on a Saturday morning to drill them about their (maybe. not. but he kissed me! but it was a mistake. but.) date? He sighs and lets Joe in (he’s the only person who he lets come over. not that many are volunteering) and they wordlessly make their way to Jesse’s room. 

 

“Nothing happened” he tries feebly. Joe gives him the stink eye. 

 

“Don’t believe you”

 

“Then don’t” 

 

“Jesseeeeee, tell me!” he says with a whiny, high-pitched voice that Jesse would give everything he has not to have to hear again. 

 

“Alright. I will tell you what happened, but you won’t squeal or laugh at me.” 

 

Joe just nods, with a glint in his eye. 

 

\--- 

 

Why. When did telling Joe seem like a good idea? Dear lord, what had gotten into his head when he thought it was a good idea? Dear fucking god. 

 

Never again. Never ever again. He swears on everything holy. Mother of god, he’s prepared to swear it upon Leo Tolstoy’s grave. 

 

\--- 

 

It’s Sunday morning when Jesse realises that he never gave Andrew his phone number and that most of his mom’s prescriptions are unfilled. 

 

She goes on autopilot these days, too drugged to even notice whether something’s wrong. That’s how Jesse has managed to hide the scratches and bruises, as well as the torn clothes. Jesse suddenly feels awful, because he hasn’t even made a half-assed attempt at talking to her, too busy thinking about himself.  He’s been in this greyish area for so long he doesn’t remember what bright colors feel like attached to his mother. He pauses in front of her door and tries going in, but the smell is too strong. 

 

When he comes back, it’s with cleaning supplies and a hamper for the dirty clothes. He feels even worse, even though he tries to shut the part of him that tells him that. He should have come in to clean days ago. Lately, his mom has become that chore that gets dumped to the bottom of the list, and he won’t ever forget himself for that. He feels, with a pang of regret, much more inclined to suffer through a lifetime of guilt over that than a few more months lived like these past few years. 

 

He wonders, idly, if one day she will be brave enough to do what they both know she longs to do. He spaces out, deep inside his mind, while he cleans. He has a long Sunday ahead of him. 

 

\--- 

 

 Jesse’s always seen life as a Bernouille experiment, success or failure. Andrew, though, Andrew has become his shades of grey, his maybe, his unsureness. He wants to solve him and maybe, maybe, define his limits. He wants to explore his borders, understand his intricacies. 

It’s been to easy to drown himself in the endless pit of pain and sorrow his mother has become. Andrew, what he means, what he will come to mean, may take him right out. Maybe he needs the help and perhaps he wants it or not but he needs to fly and forget and live, but is too afraid of doing it. Is the pain worth it? What’s so good about feeling alive? 

 ---

 

Joe, of course, tells Emma. She gives him one of her sad looks and, in that second, he hates her with everything he has. She doesn’t get to take this away from him, whatever it is. Even if it’s just a memory that will never be anything more. She doesn’t get to. 

 

She touches his cheek and he can’t move away, because suddenly, he’s very aware that he hasn’t heard from Andrew during all weekend and Monday is half gone already and he still hasn’t seen him. 

 

A pretty elaborate ruse to laugh at him, though. (maybe he should get one of those badges ‘i believe in andrew garfield’. if he did, of course) 

 

\--- 

 

“What’s the little nerd doing back here all alone?” 

 

Jesse closes his eyes and doesn’t turn around. Lucas’ drawl has become a familiar fixture of his life, one that gives him a twisted sense of normalcy. He licks his lips and steels himself for what he’s about to come. 

 

Lucas Steele is the kind of person who embodies the hate highschool teenagers exude. Jesse is not popular and most of the kids in his class perceive him as a worthless nerd, but Lucas is one of the only ones who acts on it. Sometimes he wonders if Lucas would be so ruthless if the feeling wasn’t general. Probably not. 

 

“… Wait, isn’t around here Mr Day’s office? I bet you’re only looking for him, to give the ol’man a good suck” Lucas is still talking, in that low and mocking was of his, but Jesse is beyond paying attention. He knows what Lucas is saying and he doesn’t find it in himself to care anymore. “What, cat got your tongue?”

 

And then there’s the first blow. 

 

\--- 

 

It wasn’t that bad, Jesse muses while he wets a piece of paper. His hands and knees are badly scratched and he’s sure he has a few bruises on his torso, but at least everything else is intact. His mom tends to ask when she sees bruises on his face, but never seems to notice anything else. 

 

The bathroom is empty. Exams’ week is well past and no one hangs around the library anymore, so the stalls next to it are practically always deserted. His eyes are dry and he wonders when he stopped caring altogether. 

 

He’s focused on getting the tiny pebble stones out of his hands when someone comes in. Jesse shrinks in a bit on himself, trying to be as inconspicuous as he can be, not looking up. He hears the person draw in a breath and approach him. He huddles his shoulders closer together and shuts his eyes. 

 

Until that someone places a hand on his shoulder. And… the smell. (…. Andrew?) 

 

He slowly looks up in the mirror and sees Andrew looking back at him, a tender expression in his eyes and… something else. (rage? what has Jesse done?) He opens his mouth to say something but Andrew just smiles softly and motions for him to turn around and hop onto the counter. Jesse obeys and quietly hands over the piece of paper when Andrew grabs for it. 

 

Andrew takes over the cleaning part, standing between Jesse’s legs (so close, so so close). Jesse can smell his hair (something sweet, fruity) and his aftershave and he feels drowsy with want. He doesn’t worry about someone coming in (what are the chances?), just closes his eyes and let’s himself drown in the moment. Andrew is very careful, his touch light and secure. Jesse swallows and watches him work, worrying his lower lip. 

 

When Andrew finishes with his hands and elbow, he places a hand on Jesse’s knee and the question in his eyes is clear. Jesse nods toward his knees and Andrew pushes his trousers up, revealing the light scratches there. Those he also cleans, thoroughly and efficiently, and Jesse cannot help but be slightly aroused (well, Andrew  _Garfield_  is standing between your knees and is  _literally_  breathing on your crotch, you go deal with it, if you’re so composed). 

 

After rearranging Jesse’s jeans, he stands again between his knees, this time with both hands placed on top of Jesse’s thighs. His thumbs caress the inside of Jesse’s legs softly, drawing small circles that are making Jesse go  _insane_ and he’s leaning in and Jesse thinks that he may kiss him again and this time he will respond and he will take advantage of it and he will -

 

“I’m sorry” Andrew blurts and Jesse suddenly backs away a bit, hurt. He doesn’t know why Andrew is apologizing (is it the fact that someone was rough on him? or because  _he kissed Jesse and he didn’t mean to_?) 

 

Jesse swallows again. 

 

“What about?” he bites the inside of his cheek. He misses how Andrew’s eyes are drawn to his jaw. 

 

“Kissing you” he says and Jesse feels his world crumbling around him. He knew, he  _knew_  “I mean, I’m sorry for coming on to you so suddenly” and Andrew looks down while a blush creeps up on his cheeks. “It’s just… I like you so much” he whispers. Jesse wets his lips. 

 

“But, ah, how?” he says while frowning a bit. “You barely know me” 

 

Andrew smiles softly and leans in, and Jesse thinks he’s going to get kissed again  (and is perfectly okay with it, perfectly okay) but then Andrew goes, of all things, for a skimo kiss. Jesse is being skimo-kissed in the bathroom of his high school by one of the most popular kids around. (what?). It’s… incredibly sweet and Jesse is sure that Andrew will end up with second degree burns, because his blush must be emitting fire by now. 

 

“Besides the fact that you’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen?” Andrew says against Jesse’s lips. His breath is hot and Jesse parts his lips slightly. “I know you. I know that whenever I see you, I want nothing more than to make you smile. I know that talking to you makes me happy. You’re the strongest person I know and I want nothing more than to be close to you.” and with that and Jesse’s plate-sized eyes, Andrew kisses him and Jesse thinks he’s gone from hell to heaven in less than half an hour. 

 

Their kiss deepens as Jesse’s hands come around Andrew’s neck and Andrew’s move from his thighs to his sides. 

 

Suddenly there’s a shrill sound and they jump, bumping foreheads. They look at each other and start laughing, hands still around the other. It’s the bell that signals the beginning of the afternoon lessons and they must get going, but neither moves. 

 

Andrew’s fingers toy with Jesse’s belt loops and he bites his lower lip, leaning in to give Jesse a peck. He helps him down from the counter and hands him his rucksack. 

 

“I’ll… I’ll call you later, alright?” Andrew says before tapping Jesse’s nose again and leaving. 

 

Jesse is still dizzy with the kiss, so he doesn’t realise he never gave Andrew his phone number. 

 

\---

 

Jesse’s mom always said that he is the most special thing she’s ever done. When his dad was still around, he would cuddle Jesse and kiss his forehead every night, before tucking him in. Then, he would sit by his feet while his mom read him a story and gently massage his ankles. Jesse remembers him as a kind of reassuring presence that would always protect him, unbeatable. He has the certainty that the three of them were happy. 

 

But then everything collapsed around them. His father got sick and his mom started saying that Jesse was the only thing she had left, his precious, little snowflake, the only ray of sunlight in her life. When his dad died, his mom alternated not speaking to him with saying that he was his lifeline, the only thing that kept her alive. 

 

Jesse thoroughly missed his mom, even more than his dad, because he saw his mom slip through his fingers every day. Every single day. As she grew even more alienated, he stopped being able to reach and ground her. As she sunk even deeper inside of herself, trapped inside her own mind, she slipped out of Jesse’s arms into nothingness. 

 

Jesse misses his mom. 

 

\--- 

 

Are they dating now? Jesse is positive they’re not. But, what are they doing?  They’re, what, friends? Andrew kissed him (twice. with his lips. and his tongue. and his general kissing machinery. wow, that sounds awful. but he did) and he’s sure it was not a figment of his imagination. He considers asking Joe for advice, but the memory of their last “boy talk” is still too fresh for that (and oh god he’s never ever doing it again). He considers asking Emma, but remembers her scowl whenever she sees Andrew. He’s going to have to fence for himself on this one. (he can always turn to cosmopolitan magazine if the situation is dire enough)  

 

He fishes his old moleskine from the stacks of papers on his desk and carefully places the small lily he found this morning in his locker on a new page. He writes ‘distill’ underneath. 

 

\--- 

 

The week passes mostly like this: Joe drills Jesse for information, Jesse avoids him, he checks his mom’s pills and spends two hours everyday gazing into Andrew’s impossibly large eyes while pretending to study in the library. Andrew smiles at him and winks, dropping the pretense of homework altogether. They don’t usually talk during the day and Andrew mostly ignores him, but when Jesse arrives home, they talk on the phone for hours. They also text back and forth and Jesse thinks that it’s too good to be true, because good things never happen to him.  

 

\--- 

 

“How’s it going with loverboy?” 

 

“Leave me alone, Joe”

 

“But you never tell me anything! We’re supposed to be best friends!”

 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

 

“Have you had sex yet?” 

 

“Joe. Please. Go to hell.”

 

“Is it that big?”

 

“Joe!”

 

\--- 

 

Their second ‘official’ date goes mostly like this: Andrew picks Jesse up from his house Sunday afternoon (there goes his ‘Sundays are made for cleaning up’ rule) and he drives him to his own house (in a tiny, ridiculous, incredibly tiny, flimsy and tiny scooter) and they watch a movie while cuddling on Andrew’s couch. Or, alternatively, if you must believe what Joe insists on thinking, making out and having hot, steamy pegging on Andrew’s couch. (true, except for the more body-involving part) 

 

Jesse’s almost never been to a classmate’s house. He was never invited to parties or sleepovers (except at Milo’s ages ago) and he certainly hasn’t had a date on someone’s couch (how can you have a date on a couch. that is not a date, that is a nap). He enjoys being awkward and inadequate and passes the time wondering where he should put his hands and his feet and his head and his general person until Andrew drops one arm on his shoulders and cuddles Jesse to his side. And then Jesse can keep worrying about while also worrying about his racing heart and oh-what-will-he-think-when-he-notices and his breathing and his everything and oh, god, this was a bad idea. 

 

But then Andrew leans down and kisses him and it could be more perfect if there were less clothes involved but you can’t have everything, now, can you? Jesse will take whatever he gets. And this is something. Yes. What was the movie now? Something bad with a half-dressed Natalie Portman and near to no value. Well, that’s sad. Jesse does not remember being sad. Maybe. No. Kissing. That he remembers. 

 

So they’re lazily making out on the couch (well, as lazily as you can do it when you’re both horny teenagers) and Andrew’s hands are beginning to venture into the land of skin when they hear the door opening and they jump so high and far apart they might be out of an 18th Century etiquette poster. 

 

It’s Andrew’s parents. Andrew’s parents. The British, very proper, very Andrew’s, parents (Jesse knows one isn’t, but logic is not his forte). They’re talking and not looking at them and they seem to have noticed nothing but Jesse is not sure and Andrew’s not looking at him and he’s got a hard-on on Andrew’s couch with Andrew’s parents on Andrew’s living room and oh god oh god oh god. 

 

“Oi, guys. Are you watching a movie? We just came to pick up my purse. We’re leaving now” Andrew’s mum says and she seems like a nice lady (why does he have a hard on with this nice lady in the same room? the pillow on his lap is very non-stealthy. Jesse sucks so much at stealth) and maybe her eyes linger on Jesse’s lap for a bit and maybe the dad is looking between the two of them and maybe maybe maybe Jesse is going mad but he makes a little awkward wave and they smile and Andrew says something and Jesse is having a mini-panic attack and this would be so much better if they weren’t actually there but when Jesse looks up again they’re gone and Andrew is laughing with his head between his hands and Jesse thinks it’s okay. 

 

\---

 

Maybe it wasn’t okay after all. 

 

\--- 

 

Does he mind being his mum’s emotional punching bag? Yes. He does. Does it matter? Not one bit. 

 

\--- 

 

So Andrew is not perfect after all. Yippee! News there. Jesse doesn’t really believe in perfection and he realistically knew Andrew would be no exception. Why exactly does it surprise him that Andrew isn’t a paragon of virtue and niceness, then? 

 

Andrew has been ignoring him. Since the ‘parents’ incident, they’ve only been in contact via short, clipped text messages. Jesse’s been going to the library, as usual, and Andrew has been, too. Every day. They sit in the same table, don’t look at each other and do their homework. Jesse feels like screaming or breaking things or just being incredibly pissed at the world but he just ends up being mad at himself because it’s his fault he just knows it and there’s nothing he can do. 

 

\---

 

There’s this rage inside of him, pulsating, exhausting, that pushes him forward and staples him to a page of his life he never wants to read again. He wants to leave it behind, he wants the rage, the hate, the pain to stop the corrosive path they’re trailing inside of him. He wants, wants, wants and never gets.

 

\---

 

“Jess, can we talk for a second?” 

 

Jesse is not sure of what he was expecting. But crying in the bathroom (again) was not the first thing on his mind, for sure. 

 

So Andrew’s parents asked about him. So Andrew needs time to think. So Andrew misses when everything was easier. So Andrew feels crowded and overwhelmed (and when did he turn into Jesse) and Andrew is not sure he wants this anymore. 

 

Frankly, Jesse doesn’t know, because he stopped listening halfway through. Andrew’s voice weak compared to the sound of his heart breaking (shattered is his word of the day)

 

 

\---

 

And it ends. It’s over. Andrew is over and the chapter of his life, the sweet, the movie like chapter, the good, the bittersweet, the nice and clean and open and full of air is closed and Jesse is back to being stale and grey and forgettable. 

 

It’s what he wanted all along, really. 

 

\--- 

 

Joe asks. And asks again when Jesse refuses to tell him anything. Emma asks too. But she’s got that smug ‘I told you so’ look on her face and Jesse doesn’t even bother dodging her questions. He’s not talking to anyone. But that is not a new development either. 

 

\--- 

 

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. Can we talk?_

 

**Don’t apologise. I understand. It’s okay. We can still be friends. Or acquaintances. Or not.**

 

_Jess, I want to see you._

 

**I don’t want your pity.**

 

 

\---

 

Sometimes, his mother has good days. Those are the ones Jesse hates the most, because they trick him into believing she might be okay, on the path to some sort of recovery. These are the days when she smiles and talks and asks questions Jesse doesn’t have the answer for, when she feels the need to place a soft but clumsy hand on his elbow and make eye contact, when Jesse longs and longs for five more minutes of the mother he once knew. 

 

One of those days, they’re having dinner together and she’s absentmindedly pushing her food around the plate. Jesse opens his mouth several times before just blurting what has been on his mind for days now. 

 

“Mom” he mutters and she looks up, a small smile on her face. Her eyes look empty, though, and Jesse fails to realise she’s already far away. “Mother, I think, you should know” and she’s just staring blankly and he gulps “I’m gay”. 

 

There’s no answer. Jesse looks up, biting his lip, wondering whether he’s ruined (surely. he ruins, ruins, ruins and never fixes) the fleeting moment, but his mom is looking past him, at the wall, her eyes full of something Jesse doesn’t really understand. 

 

“Mother?” he asks softly. She snaps out of her daydreaming and looks at him, nodding and reaching a hand to pat his arm. 

 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” 

 

She stands up and leaves. 

 

\---

 

“Jess. Jesse!”

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“You have a bruise. Here, on your arm.”

 

“Oh, sorry, do I? It’s nothing. I’m clumsy”

 

“Uhm. Right” 

 

\---

 

There’s one point in the afternoon when Jesse realises he’ll have to move on. He cannot pinpoint exactly when it dawns on him, but he’s sitting around the room, a book open on his lap and he suddenly realises he’s known for a while. 

 

He finds a box. It’s old and the edges are a bit roughed up, but it’ll do. He writes ANDREW in block black letters, the kind that scare him with their finality, and starts slowly gathering whatever he has of Andrew. The used moleskine with the leaves and the scraps of paper. A single picture, the only one they’ve taken together (andrew’s smiling. jesse isn’t but the happiness is obvious on the edges of his face as if it had snuck up on him without him being ready), some tickets and receipts and a t shirt. It all piles up on the box, neatly ordered and placed. Jesse is deriving some morbid pleasure out of ordering their relationship so neatly, so tidily, putting it all in a little box where he can control it, where it can’t be messy, where he’s the puppeteer and everything is at his mercy. 

 

When he finishes, he just sits on the bed and stares at it. 

 

He’s not expecting the knock on the door when it comes, especially because his mom never knocks (or comes in, for that matter). 

 

It’s Andrew. His hair looks messy and his eyes look puffy and it’s obvious he hasn’t dressed with his usual care. 

 

“Your mum let me in” he says sheepishly. Jesse nods, but doesn’t open his door further (he didn’t even hear the doorbell). “Can we talk for a second?”

 

He pushes the door and lets Andrew into his room. His space. He tries not to be bothered much by this (it’s his, not andrew’s. not anymore)

 

Andrew fidgets a little, unsure of himself. Jesse tries to abandon the defensive stance he’s adopted (he fails) and watches helplessly as Andrew sits down on the bed. He ignores the other boy’s gesture to join him on the bed and instead leans on his desk. Waiting. 

 

No one talks for a couple of minutes and Jesse feels the silence drumming into his ears. Andrew opens his mouth but he can’t seem to force anything out. 

 

After a few more seconds, he manages to find his voice.

 

‘My parents, they want me to go study. Back home, in England.’ he tries to find Jesse’s eyes and looks expectant, as if that would change anything. ‘I’ve told them I’m not going anywhere, I want to stay here’. Jesse swallows but doesn’t let (tries) anything show on his face. This doesn’t change anything. This doesn’t change anything. ‘Jesse?’

 

Jesse clears his throat. ‘Yes?’

 

‘I’m sorry. I… I really am. I had no right to do what I did to you. I’m so sorry. I was confused, I think, and then I thought I had just used you to experiment and get answers and well, I really am sorry. I never intended for you to get hurt’ he says and his face is so earnest, so open, Jesse feels even worse. He tells himself the know in his throat isn’t there and he’s not tearing up and Andrew did not just say he used him. (but he did)

 

‘I was just that.’ he mutters ‘An experiment?’ 

 

And this is not fair because Andrew is older, Andrew should have all this figured out, Andrew should know better. Andrew is older, Andrew should have known. Andrew was not allowed to play with Jesse’s emotions and Jesse’s heart and make him believe in some kind of future when he didn’t even know who he was. He had no right. 

 

But Andrew is looking at him weirdly and he’s shaking his head and one of his hands is reaching towards Jesse and suddenly everything is too much and he needs to sit down. His office chair squeals when he drops on it but the sound is muffled by Andrew saying ‘no, no, no’. Jesse doesn’t register it. (he’s missed so much already)

 

Suddenly Andrew is in front of him and Andrew’s hands are on his knees and their eyes are meeting and Jesse feels slightly better (and hates himself for it. andrew’s not going to be here. andrew’s not going to save him). 

 

‘Jess, listen to me. Jesse’ and Jesse is drowning in the repetition of his name and he can’t find himself but Andrew is suddenly pulling him back to the surface, but he doesn’t want to break the waters and ‘Jesse. Look at me’ Jesse obeys and Andrew’s eyes are open and clear and he feels he can do it. 

 

‘We’ve done so many things wrong, Jesse. We haven’t done anything at all as we should have. I’ve listened to the wrong people all along and I haven’t had the guts to go for what I wanted’ Andrew says and Jesse suspects he’s not as calm as he’s trying to appear to be. The hands on his knees are gripping a tad too strongly and Andrew’s lower lip is quivering. 

 

And Jesse is lost lost lost lost and he is terrified because he doesn’t want to be found, never has, but Andrew may have found him. And he’s scared, afraid, livid, but he is also… happy. 

 

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> I owe my deepest gratitude to princewardo who betaed this and helped me loads, even if I've been out of reach for quite a bit. I wish I had been able to dedicate more time to this, but unforeseen circumstances got in the way (as they do). I also couldn't have done this without the help and support from bloovanmeer, my parachute :) . James, thanks for listening to me moan and helping in any way you could possibly think of.


End file.
